Blur
by white lotus
Summary: Mugen. Jin. Too much drink. Strange thoughts.


**A/N - **My first entry into this fandom. An odd little scene involving Mugen, Jin and a lot of drink. Comment and criticise. Please. I need all the help I can get. Unbeta'd. Screwed formatting.

**Warnings - **Um. Yaoi. Kinda.

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**Blur **

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He really should have been asleep.

Now, it wasn't as if there was anything preventing him from doing so - he'd been tramping with Fuu and that four-eyed bastard all day; he was starving and exhausted and he'd reached the stage where one wasn't sure whether it was too late or too early to be up and really couldn't be bothered figuring it all out. So sleep would have been quite welcome, if only he hadn't been completely bent on remaining awake.

He was pretty sure hunger and fatigue stood wholly opposed to that and had expressed their dissent by inducing the grumpy, lethargic somewhat jumbled arrangement of skinny limbs, knobbly joints, sword, steel-lined sandals and whatnot that was Mugen, and barely conscious.

And those small, white porcelain bottles might have had something to do with this disaster zone. Yeah. That tiny, smug little bitch over there, you think you're so _innocent_, being all white and pretty and sweet and shit…

With a graceless, deeply satisfying belch, Mugen ordered his arm to reach for what was left of the saké. His muscles said, _screw it, we're not gonna over-exert for the likes of you,_ and he let out a small whimper of distress.

Must. Have. More. Saké.

Where the Hell was that Fuu when you needed her? Stupid girl, probably sleeping. Which was what any _normal_ person should have been doing, his brain cells moaned in agony for the umpity-ith time, more than desperate now - they were due to start disintegrating soon.

Mugen told them to shut up and tried for the saké again. _Narrgh. Nooooo…_ Oh, for fuck's sake. You've been cut up, poisoned, burnt, strained, twisted, broken, whatever. You're suffered shit a lot worse than a couple of bottles of nice swine - er - rice wine. _Move_, dammit!

A few metres away, something stirred.

Mugen squinted through the haze in his eyes, waded laboriously through the condensed mush of his mind, as he made a notable attempt in figuring out what the moving thing on the ground was.

Oh yeah. It was that thingamabob. Guy. Wosshisname? Jee? Jim? Jing? Jin… Jin! That's right. He was closer to the saké and very much asleep, his chin nestled in the crook of his arm, making ridiculous snuffling noises through his shallow breathing.

Mugen concentrated. It hurt.

But somewhere, among the tiny patch of sober consciousness that hadn't drowned in alcoholic influence, the following equation managed to register.

Wake Jin up Perhaps more saké.

Miracle of the day: Mugen's leg moved. It travelled a complete arc, ending near Jin's right ear. He had meant to kick him, but it somehow became more of a listless nudge. Jin twitched and waved a hand as though he was brushing off a fly.

Mouth didn't want to move, but he had to get the other's attention. He needed that alcohol. "Gerruhp, ya buhshtid. _Gerrrh Urhp."_

Jin's glasses slipped off the tip of his long, pale nose and landed on his arm, the lenses fogging as he exhaled onto them. Pale and long. Every damn thing about the guy was pale and long: His face, his arms, his fingers, his feet. His hair was long too. But that wasn't pale. It did however, serve to make the rest of him look even more so.

"Merrrgh," Mugen grunted, annoyed. Friggin' prick. Who the _Hell_ did he think he was - no, seriously, _what_ gave him the right to lie there like a sleepy child, all oblivious and flushed from drink, vulnerable and -

_That's it._

Brain cells popping like bubble wrap, muscles screaming in quivering protest, Mugen forced himself to his feet.

And couldn't quite get there.

So on his hands and knees, he dragged himself inch by painful inch across the room until he loomed, elbows threatening to give, over the thoroughly intoxicated Jin.

Wanna make me get up and get my own drink, eh? Wanna fuck with my mind, eh? Wanna piss me off even further, you shit-head, you think you can just lie there and look all -

Final straw.

No one… Wait, rephrase: _No guy_ was allowed to make Mugen think they looked cute and get away without being mauled to the point where no amount of plastic surgery (which, technically, hadn't been invented yet) would ever permit them to even vaguely _hint_ at ever being cute at all or ever again.

What to damage, what to damage…? With a great deal of struggle, Mugen managed to free a dagger from his belt and let it hover unsteadily over Jin's head. Hack off his ponytail? That'd be fun to watch him react to. Break his glasses, maybe. Melt his swords…

He really wasn't thinking straight. In fact, the currently curved pattens of thought were wholly and completely under the influence: No person in their right mind would even consider doing anything along those lines. Not if they didn't desire a guaranteed slow and painful death at the hands of the bespectacled ronin.

Yes, Mugen was, as we have established, utterly drunk. High. Inebriated. Smashed. Which was why if he didn't collapse now, his arms might have actually gotten hold of the saké bottle and he would have died of alcohol poisoning.

His elbows finally gave up and his cheek hit the floorboards with a soft thud, one arm draped over Jin's form, still clutching the dagger, the other crushed beneath Mugen's own dead weight. He was _seriously_ pissed now. He'd kick Jin and a couple of tables around or something, if he wasn't feeling like the rest of the world was using him as a futon.

No... Can't fall asleep. He had a new objective now: Mangle something on Jin and wake up the bastard to watch him have a fit. Not that he ever _had_ fits. He just sort of _sat_ there, eyebrows twitching, and… _Hmmn_ed.

Or he cut you up. Excellent method of anger management, that was.

Mugen ditched the dagger. He withdrew his arm from Jin's back and picked the foggy (virtually dripping now) glasses from the sleeper's arm, before blindly flinging them across the room. They clattered somewhere, but didn't seem like they wanted to break. Then he mustered what remained of his sluggish strength and flipped the samurai over onto his back, hoping he would wake up. He didn't.

Okay: Will. Not. Scream. Not yet, anyway, it required too much of an effort.

What did it take to get a response out of this skinny... Radish-man? Prop his eyelids open with chopsticks?

In a final attempt to do Jin some harm, Mugen searched the long, pale face for something to mutilate. Nose looked delicate and breakable, but too much effort right now. Eye lashes - so long - demanded to be plucked out one by one, just for fun, but no… His lips… Now, that was something to consider. Frikkin' Hell, they were long too - kinda thin and bloodless, like everything else on him.

At long, long last, Mugen decided to spit on him, because he couldn't be bothered thinking of anything more ingenious. So he wriggled closer, leaned forward and…

Um. When had he decided to shut his eyes?

No, that couldn't be right - shouldn't be out of breath.

He forced an eye open.

Jin blinked at him, unable to articulate much, due to the fact that his mouth was currently occupied by a good deal of Mugen's tongue.

Funny how people can access these great reserves of energy hidden somewhere in their being when the right stimulus is presented.

If Mugen had been electrocuted, it wouldn't have shaken him off Jin any faster than he removed himself now. He slumped, backed up against the wall, as far away from the other as possible, gasping for air.

"Wzz tryin' ta suff'kate yoo 'nya shlep," he explained roughly.

Jin blinked again. 'Hmmn." He said, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Mugen stared. What the fuck was wrong with them all? His heartbeat slowed. Jin began to gently snore.

Mugen rubbed an eye, knew that he really should have been asleep. "'Ey," He tried. "'Ey, buhshtid. Gemme sum sakee…"


End file.
